


A little experiment

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [160]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPGCitadel.





	A little experiment

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

Feeling way more energetic than he did when he first got home, Sam glances at Ryan, sitting beside him, legs over his lap, his gaze glued to the screen and some stupid movie Sam's not even following the plot for anymore. "You really watching this?" he asks, waving the remote at the television. They're far enough in that he doesn't really want to tear Ryan away if he is. God knows their record for making it through anything that's not a half-hour sitcom is abysmal and he suspects sometimes it actually annoys the crap out of his lover.

"Seriously?" Ryan glances quickly over at Sam then gestures towards the screen. "Look at this poor fuck. Eddie is the only person smart enough to figure it out, but Anna's so pissed off at him for getting locked up again that she's, like, actively trying to make sure people don't believe a word he says. And so _no one_ is going to be ready when the aliens attack..." He shakes his head in disgust. But his slow-moving thoughts plod along, and he looks at Sam, then glances at the television... and then back to his lover. "No, I'm not watching this," he says, taking the remote and shutting the movie off. "What's up?"

Sam grins. "I thought I might tie you to the bed and have my way with you." There's more but Ryan doesn't need to know that. Not yet.

Ryan's jaw drops. "Well, shit. Why didn't you say so?" Like a movie can compete with _that_ prospect. He drops his bare feet to the floor and leads the way to their bedroom, already peeling off his t-shirt.

"Eager boy," Sam murmurs, his grin wide as he follows close behind. "Get on your back." He opens their closet and drags his bag from the back, unzipping it to pull a dark blue plastic bag from the bottom.

Shucking his jeans, Ryan does so, and he's nearly quivering with that same eagerness as he stretches out on the bed. Sam's getting _supplies_ \-- he has no idea what, of course, but it hardly matters. Ryan knows damn well it will be something good; it always is.

"It's amazing how hard it can be to figure out stuff that'll make it through security," Sam says, pulling four equal lengths of soft white rope from the bag and setting them on the bedside table along with a small sanding block already wrapped with sandpaper, a bottle of cinnamon oil (not that it's labelled), a small bottle of lube, a pair of gloves and a couple of condoms.

Since Sam doesn't seem to be going to any trouble to conceal things, Ryan braces on his elbows to check everything out. His eyes widen at the sanding block, but that's not what makes him speak up. "What... rubbers?" he asks, looking at Sam in surprise. Are they going to have a guest?

Sam shakes his head. "You'll see," he says, eyes sparkling as he drops his jeans and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

"Okay," Ryan says, his voice faint. As single-minded as he tends to be, he's already mostly distracted by the striptease, his gaze moving hungrily over his lover. Fuck, Sam looks incredible; Ryan's obsessed with his lover's body all the time, but even he might admit that with Sam back in shape to play a Marine, the effect is fucking phenomenal.

Grinning, Sam climbs on the bed, moving between Ryan's thighs and reaching for the lengths of rope. He uses them to tie each limb to its corner post and then sits back, rather pleased with his handiwork. Reaches out to grip Ryan's cock and give it a rough couple of strokes.

With a bitten-back moan, Ryan shoves into Sam's grip. Precome is beading up on the head of his prick already, and he knows he needs to pace himself... which is pretty much impossible with Sam touching him. He's more than a little nervous, though, about the sandpaper and the _gloves_ , fuck. He's only ever before seen Sam use gloves once, and it was for a medical roleplay. What could their purpose be here?

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Sam says, giving Ryan's cock a couple more strokes before he suddenly stops and slaps the side with the flat of his hand.

Ryan cries out, jumping with the shock. But the sting fades in an instant, leaving raw excitement in its wake. "Please," he whispers.

"Please?" Sam grins and pushes Ryan's cock straight up, flat against his belly and slaps at his balls.

"Fuck!" _That_ , on the other hand -- oh god, that pain fucking lingers. Ryan tries instinctively to retreat, but of course he's instantly drawn up short by the ropes tied to his ankles. He moans... and then tentatively spreads his thighs a little wider.

Eyes darkening, Sam gives things a moment's thought then says, "Hold on. I'll be right back."

Lifting his head off the pillow, Ryan stares after Sam. He's a little curious, sure. But mostly he's just anxious at being left behind without warning when he's so damn horny. Although, it sounds like Sam is just down the hall rummaging through the kitchen drawers, so that's promising. Wincing, he shifts slightly, trying to settle in a position less likely to give him muscle cramps.

Sam comes back with a huge smile plastered across his face and a wooden spoon in one hand. "Missed me?" he asks, climbing back onto the bed, between Ryan's thighs.

"That's, um..." Ryan eyes the spoon. "You know, I'd actually forgotten about your creativity with kitchen utensils." Blocked it out, is more like.

"It's not as bad as the cheese grater," Sam points out, pressing Ryan's cock to his belly with his free hand. Although that might be up for debate in a minute or two, he admits, swatting Ryan's balls with the flat of the spoon.

"Nothing is-- _ow_!" Ryan stiffens against the bed, every muscle seeming to draw in tight at the intense shock of pain. He grits his teeth and breathes through his nose, trying to find his focus. Because this definitely seems like a time when he'll need to be mentally prepared.

"No?" Sam taps Ryan's balls with the spoon, patting them over and over, back and forth between his testicles, the force behind the pats slowly increasing.

Ryan whimpers, now anticipating each rise in the strength of Sam's strikes. It's a fucking mental trip to _know_ something like that is coming, and be completely powerless to act. He rocks his hips slightly, trying to relax into the heat and let himself melt into the pain.

God. Sam fucking loves it when Ryan hurts for him like this. And every whimper, every rock of his boy's hips only encourages him, only urges him on. He slaps harder, counting down an even dozen strikes in his head, and then drops the spoon beside them.

His balls are fucking stinging without a damn bit of contact now, and at first Ryan doesn't even notice that Sam has stopped. Then he cautiously opens his eyes, and gives his sir a wary look. Because he knows damn well they're probably not even close to done here.

Sam grins when Ryan opens his eyes, and holds up the sanding block. "Keep your eyes open, boy," he orders, shifting to hover over Ryan, one hand braced above his shoulder.

"Oh fuck." It takes major effort for Ryan to follow Sam's command, when he just wants to squeeze his eyes shut tight and block out the very sight. Awareness heightens sensation so damn much. His muscles have gone rigid again in an instant, and he breathes shallowly, carefully, trying to calm himself down before Sam touches him again.

"Good boy." Sam's grin widens and he runs the sanding block over Ryan's left nipple. Back and forth, the touch as light as he can make it.

That's unexpected, completely, when Ryan was anticipating more brutal treatment of his balls. And fuck, it feels _good_ , just the right degree of teasing. He moans softly, automatically arching into the touch.

"You like that, do you, boy?" Sam rubs the block a little harder against Ryan's nipple before switching to the other side and giving his right nipple the same treatment.

Whimpering, Ryan squirms beneath his lover. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, struggling to keep his eyes open as they begin to haze over. His nipple rings make him more sensitive than he ever was before, and it's like he can feel sparks of pleasure shooting straight into his cock every time Sam touches him like this. "It's so good."

Ryan's nipples nicely scratched up, Sam moves down his lover's body, running the block over his stomach and sides and teasingly close to his cock.

"Oh, god." Blinking, Ryan tries to focus on Sam. Every rub of sandpaper against his skin heightens his senses further, until he feels like his entire body is straining towards his sir.

The sanding block laid against Ryan's cock, Sam grins at him, his eyes gone dark with arousal. "You'll have to let me know how this compares to the grater," he says, drawing it down Ryan's length, gently at first and then harder.

Ryan shudders, electric sparks shooting through him. Fear is rising in him, but it's not yet tuned to the knife-sharp edge that he knows it will be.

"Dirty boy," Sam says, moving the block back and forth, up and down the front of Ryan's cock and up and down both sides. And right over the head, his other hand pulling the foreskin back.

Pulling at the ropes, Ryan tries to jerk away. It's just a reflex, though, the instinct strong to protect himself. But he fucking loves this, the fine sandpaper still an arousing touch on his most sensitive skin.

"Oh no you don't," Sam grins, running the block back and forth across the glans, the pressure slowly increasing.

"Oh fuck." Ryan clenches his hands into fists, trying to keep from whimpering. Sam's getting fucking serious now, and his skin is starting to burn. "Sir," he gasps.

"Don't worry, I'm almost done," Sam says. With this. He swipes the sandpaper over Ryan's cock one more time then spreads his cheeks, wedging the block between them, the one edge right against his hole.

Ryan swallows a moan and _of course_ he immediately has to wriggle just to see how it feels. Fuck, he's in for it now. If Sam isn't pulling back to fuck him, then... Well, there are quite a few more items waiting.

Reaching across Ryan's body, Sam grabs the lube, the other bottle, the gloves and a condom. He drops everything except the gloves beside his lover's hip and pulls them on, snapping them dramatically against his wrists.

Swallowing hard, Ryan watches his lover closely. Those gloves make him really fucking nervous. Not to mention the condom -- yeah, he's starting to get a bad feeling about all this. And being the fucked-up freak that he is, that bad feeling transmutes right into tense excitement.

Sam takes a moment to contemplate the two bottles and then reaches for the condom, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling the rubber onto his cock. There's no doubt he's going to stay hard so putting it on before works just as well if not better than waiting. "You must be feeling pretty curious by now," he says casually, opening the lube and adding the contents of the smaller unlabelled bottle to it.

"...Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, staring at the proceedings. _What the fuck?_ "I know you never plan anything boring."

Sam grins. "That might be an understatement this time," he murmurs, shaking the bottle well and then pouring a few drops on his gloved fingers, smearing the oil and lube between them before leaning forward to rub his fingers over Ryan's left nipple.

Ryan catches the scent of cinnamon on the air an instant before Sam touches him, but it's too fucking late for him to do anything about it. He retreats in a panic, caught up immediately by his bonds. And he shouts at the oil burning into his flesh on contact.

That shout goes straight to Sam's cock and he pours a couple more drops on his fingers, rubbing them together and then pinching his other nipple, the burn of the cinnamon diffused by the lube and then ratcheted back up by the abrasion.

Loud wordless whimpers spill from Ryan's lips, his biceps bulging as he yanks at the ropes, trying to get away. What's even worse is that, beneath the fire, he knows _exactly_ what's still to come, Sam's plans clear to him in an instant. "Ohh, fuck," he moans, wincing at the traitorous throb of his cock.

Sam chuckles, sitting back on his heels and watching his boy. Making sure he has Ryan's complete attention before pouring a good palmful of lube and oil into his hand this time, his grin turning downright wicked as he wraps his hand around Ryan's cock and _strokes_.

Ryan howls and damn near flies off the bed. Every single tiny abrasion from the sandpaper seems to catch fire in an instant, until his mind is nothing but a blur of pain and heat and desperate arousal. He arches against the mattress, whining brokenly.

"You like that?" Sam says, pouring more lube into his hand and stroking harder, fingers working over the head before he pushes Ryan's foreskin back, dripping one drop and then another into his slit, the lube pooling around his piercing before slowly seeping in.

Now Ryan is struggling so much that the sanding block pressed between his cheeks catches against the bed and rubs him hard -- like he didn't have enough to deal with already. He babbles mindlessly, trying to plead with his sir but he's got a feeling the words just aren't coming out right. Tears streak down his temples onto the pillow.

"You can beg all you want," Sam tells him, shifting back again, his hand moving over his own cock now, layering the condom thickly with lube. "But I'm not stopping til I've come." The sanding block pulled from between Ryan's cheeks and his cock oh-so-slowly pushed into his boy's hole.

Ryan can beg all he wants -- in theory, sure. But the truth is that he can't even fucking manage simple speech anymore. He yells again and again as Sam penetrates him, pushing that godforsaken cinnamon oil _inside_ him, searing sensitive tissue and leaving him reeling from the pain. He sobs openly, pulling against his bonds and squirming against his sir.

The condom dulls the sensation, lacking the friction of flesh into flesh, but the way Ryan's squirming, the tears running down his cheeks, making so much fucking noise their neighbours would be up here in a second - if they were home - _that_ heightens everything. Makes him harder than ever but also makes it easier to keep going, to ride that fucking edge, pouring more lube over his cock before he pushes in again, shoving deep, Ryan's renewed cries only fuelling his sadism. 

Dizzy and overwhelmed, Ryan just cries. His body moves purely on instinct now, all his nerve endings confused but screaming.

Sam holds out as long as he can, riding his boy, fucking his cock deep and then deeper, harder and still faster, until he's there, right fucking there, and he wraps his hand around Ryan's cock, demanding, "C'mon. Come with me, boy," unable to deny the need any longer, his cock pulsing hotly, spilling his seed, hot and thick and heavy, into the latex between them.

The words don't even make sense anymore. But the second Sam touches Ryan's cock, Ryan bucks and screams, exploding like he hasn't come in months. It _hurts_ , oh god it hurts, his semen mixing with the cinnamon lube and scalding him all over again, impossible pleasure flooding him to his fingertips.

Fuck yes. Now _that_ has to be one of the hottest things Sam's ever seen. He leans up over his lover, bracing his hands above his head and slowly fucks him through the aftershocks, kissing him as he can. "Good boy," he whispers, nibbling at Ryan's mouth. "So fucking good for me."

Ryan can only whimper, feebly trying to return the kisses. He's washed out and weak, flashes of fire still streaking through him as the oil continues to work its way into his skin. But he can barely twitch in response at this point.

Easing out, Sam gets rid of the condom and gently but quickly unties Ryan's wrists and ankles, checking them for any serious damage. "I need you to sit up and put your arm around my neck," he tells his lover, leaning over him again. "The oil's not going to stop burning on its own and water alone won't do it. I need to clean you up in the bathroom."

As soon as his wrists are released, Ryan's arms drop to the bed. It takes effort to reach out for Sam. The words are just a blur in the muddy din between Ryan's ears right now. But his sir's voice -- he's always drawn towards that, and he slides his fingers over the warm skin of his lover's shoulder with a soft sigh.

"C'mon," Sam says, looping his arms around his lover and pulling him up, first to sitting, then to his feet. "Bathroom," he says, not even bothering to explain at this point. His whole focus on getting his boy into the bathroom and into the damn tub.

Ryan stumbles along beside him, his eyes barely open. His flesh still hurts, yes, but the fires have dulled to a low burn for the moment, humming along in the background. He just wants to curl up against Sam and lose himself in sleep for days, but instead he blinks hard when his foot hits the cold porcelain of the bathtub.

"This is for your own good," Sam tells him, running the water, making sure it's good and warm. "Once you start coming down, you're going to be in a world of pain otherwise." And without a nice heavy dose of endorphins to blanket it. "Get in," he tells him, helping Ryan into the bathtub. "I'm going to grab the milk and I'll be right back, okay?"

With a soft murmur, Ryan settles back, resting his head against the tub's edge and shutting his eyes.

Sam grabs a litre of milk from the fridge, making sure there's another behind it for tomorrow, before returning to the bathroom. He turns off the water, checking the temperature once more, then grabs a washcloth from the cupboard, soaking it with milk. "This is gonna be cold," he warns Ryan, running it over his nipples and chest.

Ryan jerks upright from a doze, unformed protests on his lips. He brings his knees up and huddles around himself, but his presence of mind is - slowly - returning enough that he tries to loosen up to make room for Sam to work, even as he shivers at the touch of the cloth.

"Hey," Sam gives Ryan a smile as he sees his lover gain a little more consciousness. "That was brilliant," he says, leaning in to kiss him on the lips before moving the washcloth lower, soaking it with more milk before taking care of his cock. "You were so good for me."

With a whimper Ryan kisses his lover again, blindly seeking the heat of Sam's mouth. He unfolds his arms and reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Sam's biceps.

Sam gives in to the kiss, to Ryan's need to touch him, but he knows he's not done, and he waits for his boy to settle a little before finally telling him, "I need you on your hands and knees for a minute. Ass in the air."

Pulling back the space of a breath, Ryan nods. But it takes him a little longer to obey, gripping the sides of the bathtub and pushing himself up to his knees, then leaning forward to brace his hands. The pain in his cock is finally starting to ease, now, Sam's touch working some soothing magic.

"You're gonna hate me for this now but you'll be really glad later," Sam says, spreading Ryan's cheeks and his hole open and pouring the milk directly into him.

Ryan curses at the sudden shock of cold, and it's only ingrained self-discipline which keeps him from shoving Sam away. He can feel the milk dribbling out of him and he shudders, biting back a whine.

"Ass up," Sam says, swatting him gently. "You want to keep this in for as long as you can."

Mumbling something which might be a sullen "yes, sir," Ryan pushes back on his haunches, angling his ass into the air. He tucks his chin against his chest, carefully keeping his face out of the water.

Sam pours the rest of the milk into Ryan and tosses the carton into the bin. It's still dribbling out, but that's fine, it'll work okay in the water too. "Anything still burning?"

"Fuck you, Sam." They're the first real words Ryan has managed in quite a while, and they just sound exhausted. He blows out a breath, trying to honestly evaluate the question. "My cock," he whispers after a moment. "It burns around my piercing."

Taken aback by Ryan's reaction, Sam's not really sure how to respond, choosing in the end to simply pick up the washcloth which is still soaked with milk and apply it to the area around Ryan's piercing. "Any better?"

Ryan nods, his eyes closed. He's nearly swaying with fatigue at this point. "Can I get out now?" he asks softly.

"Yeah." Sam nods. "You can stand up and hold onto me for a minute, let the milk out, and then sit on the side and I'll dry you," he says, reaching for a thick bath towel and hooking it over his shoulder.

"Okay." Holding tightly to the sides of the tub, Ryan pushes himself carefully to his feet. He loops his arms around Sam's neck and rests his head on his lover's shoulder, needing to be close.

"I'm sorry this required so much care after," Sam says, kissing the side of Ryan's throat. "I just didn't want you hurting later," he adds, waiting until Ryan's seated on one towel before wrapping the other around him and starting to dry him off.

"Mmm. Just want to hold you," Ryan murmurs. Now that he's warming up again, he's trying to melt into Sam and generally getting in the way of his own aftercare without meaning to. "Hold you and sleep."

Sam nods. "We'll get there," he promises. "Just give me another minute." It's a bit of a struggle but finally he gets Ryan sufficiently dry and eases his lover to his feet, arms tight around him, maneuvering him back into their bedroom and under the sheets. The bath still needs to be drained and the floor cleaned up but fuck it, it can wait til later. He climbs in beside Ryan and pulls him in close, the covers pulled snug around them.

Ryan plasters himself to his lover, huddling in against Sam's solid heat, the comfort of his body. "I love you," he whispers, blissful with the knowledge that he can finally completely relax. The burning in his flesh is a distant memory, and tension flows from his muscles like water. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome," Sam murmurs, brushing a kiss across Ryan's temple. "I love you too." He's nowhere near ready for sleep himself but lying here, like this, his lover in his arms, savouring that closeness, sometimes that's way better than sleep.


End file.
